


All Of The While It Was You

by Scribe



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M, Monaboyd Month 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 11:53:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribe/pseuds/Scribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every fandom needs a coffee shop AU, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Of The While It Was You

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to fiercynn for both getting me started on this idea and for betaing.

Most days, Dom liked working at PJ's. He liked his coworkers and he liked most of the customers, liked that it was just a weird little family-owned café where they didn't have nametags and occasionally had to run to the corner store for more milk. Once Peter trusted you he pretty much let you do whatever you wanted; he let Viggo set the menu based on whatever he was in the mood for that morning, and he let Dom screw around with drinks when it was slow and, what's more, let him sell whatever he invented as a special. He'd come up with a chai milkshake that was so popular they made it a permanent fixture, and chocolate-vanilla-mint tea that no one else liked but that he drank in gallons behind the counter, anyway.

Plus there was Billy. Billy had been around for about eighteen months, and he was by far Dom's favorite regular. He staked out the corner table a couple of times a week at least, covered it with books and print-outs and his computer and accumulated a drift of coffee mugs until Dom had to come confiscate them for the sake of anyone else wanting a drink. Billy was writing a thesis, though a lot of the time that seemed to entail leaning on the drink counter chatting with Dom. He wasn't about to complain. Billy was a good conversationalist, and he had good taste in coffee, and he was an excellent partner in crime for Dom's perpetual game of see-how-outrageously-I-have-to-flirt-with-a-customer-to-make-Elijah-choke-on-something. 

Even Billy isn't saving today for him, though. It's cold and rainy, which should mean things are quiet, but instead it's resulted in crowds of people tracking mucky water and demanding soup and hot drinks. Dom spilled an entire bowl of Viggo's sausage and lentil stew over his hand during the lunch rush, which was both humiliating and painful. His thumb and forefinger are still red and hurt when he puts them near anything hot, which is unfortunate because holding hot things is about seventy-five percent of his job. 

To top it off, he's just fielded the third customer of the day who ordered a macchiato and then got angry when he gave them one instead of whatever mutated latte thing Starbucks had fooled them into believing was a macchiato. Customer one had drunk it anyway, and customer two had accepted a substitute latte, but customer three wouldn't take anything but a refund, and even that not very politely. The line backed up while he was getting Peter to authorize it, of course, and by the time things calm down Dom is ready to go home, Billy and the rest of his shift be damned. 

"You should just put up a sign," says Billy, who'd watched the whole debacle with amusement. "Maybe a picture with an arrow, 'this is what a macchiato looks like.'"

"They'd only grouse about that," says Dom.

"Or you could warn them when taking the orders."

"I wouldn't want to insult our customers by implying that they don't know what they're ordering."

"Yes, but they don't. You just don't want to admit that the Starbucks macchiato is a fact of life."

"You know, I think they made it up to play a prank on all other coffee shops." Dom makes himself stop there. Billy's heard the rant before.

"Or I suppose you could just start making them Starbucks-style."

"And give in to the machine? Never."

"Hmm," says Billy. "What a sad state customer service is in these days. I thought we customers were always supposed to be right."

Dom makes a face at him and goes to scoop tea for the couple Elijah's ringing up. There's no one in line after that, thankfully, so he wanders back over to the counter. The rejected macchiato is still sitting there, foam slowly sinking. He nudges it toward Billy.

"You want this?

"I don't need any more caffeine."

"It's decaf," Dom lies. Billy narrows his eyes.

"No it isn't. I saw you make it."

"You know the difference between our espresso grinders?" asks Dom incredulously.

"The decaf one makes a mess."

"I can't believe you know that. Anybody ever tell you you need to get a life?"

"Writing my thesis," Billy points out. "I'm not supposed to have a life."

"And that's, what, a thesis on the habits of the barista in his natural environment?"

"I have writer's block," says Billy primly.

"Aww, that's too bad," says Elijah, coming over to them to fish the coffee beans out of the cabinet. Dom checks his watch: 2pm on the dot, of course. Elijah takes the brew-new-coffee-every-two-hours mandate more seriously than anyone in the café.

"Thanks, Lij," says Billy. "It's nice to have someone express a little sympathy." He mock-glares at Dom, who smiles back. He considers helping Elijah with the coffee, but there's nothing else going on and he's had a shit day, so he deserves a minute to chat with Billy.

"Some caffeine might help," he says, nudging the cup again. "Get your thought processes flowing, you know."

"Oh, so now you're admitting it's caffeinated?"

"What can I say? The decaf makes a mess. Elijah, can you believe Billy knows the difference between our espresso grinders?"

"The decaf one does make a mess," says Elijah in a tone of voice that implies Dom is the one being unreasonable here. "Why is that?"

"I have no idea! The point is that it's ridiculous for Billy to spend so much time watching us!"

There's a short silence, or what would be silence if Elijah wasn't grinding coffee. Billy's mouth goes tight.

"I really, really didn't mean that the way it sounded," says Dom. "I'm so sorry. Please don't go away." He gives in to the urge to lean all the way over so he can rest his head on the counter. "Today is the worst."

Someone pats him on the shoulder. He wants it to be Billy but of course it isn't, because even though the two of them have spent countless hours flirting over cooling coffee they never, ever touch each other. It's one of those employee-customer lines that just can't be crossed.

Dom sighs. There's a dried milk stain in front of his nose that he should probably wipe up at some point; come to think of it, he should probably wipe down the whole counter after he's put his head on it. Or maybe he'll just stay here all day.

"You've got customers," remarks Billy, at the same time as Dom hears voices and the loud rush of the rain through the open door. He straightens up in a hurry. There's a flock of businessmen dripping on the mat in the front of the café, folding umbrellas and squinting up at the menu. To be fair, Dom chalked it this morning, and even when he's being careful his handwriting is a little dodgy. Elijah's still working on the coffee, which leaves Dom to get the register.

"Don't go, I mean it," he says to Billy, and hurries over.

One businessman is apparently paying for all the other businessmen, who all- after long and torturous deliberation- want lattes. They all want different lattes, too, just to make Dom's life harder: soy, skim, decaf skim, regular, half caf, caramel lowfat. Elijah starts the coffee brewing and gently hipchecks Dom out of the way of the register about halfway through so he can go get started on the drinks.

It gets a little frantic. Dom's making a mess, leaving gallons of milk and dirty steaming pitchers everywhere, but the men are all clustered at the counter talking and he wants them to hurry up and go away. Billy's retreated all the way to the wall. He's drinking the macchiato, which Dom had known would happen eventually. He either feels or imagines Billy's eyes on him as he pulls shots.

Finally he's on the last one, shaking a perfect little rosetta onto it even though it's about to be covered with a lid. Dom's latte art is kind of a PJ's legend. There isn't actually much to it- mostly just hours watching how-to youtube videos on his phone on slow mornings- but he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the reputation. He's working on a swan at the moment, which had gone perfectly on latte number three.

He hands the last cup over and wishes the gaggle a rather insincere good day, though they're probably not paying enough attention to notice.

"I think he tipped us a five," says Elijah as soon as the door closes, leaning over to peer into the tip cup by the register.

"Nice swan," says Billy, coming back over. So he had been watching.

"Thanks. How's the macchiato?"

Billy shrugs. "Free," he says, with half a smile to take the sting out of it. Dom doesn't mind. Billy isn't really a straight espresso kind of guy, and anyway, he's mostly just happy that his earlier comment appears to have been forgiven.

"Hey, I have a question," adds Billy. "How come everyone else gets your famous latte art creations and all I get are hearts? I know they're the easiest thing you can make, I remember you saying so that day when you were trying to teach Elijah. Don't I rate anything fancier?"

"Um," says Dom. He should have some over-the-top flirtatious reply, something to deflect, but even though his mind is racing it isn't coming up with any words. Even worse, he can feel himself blushing. He really, really hopes Elijah is still paying attention to the tip cup.

"Oh," says Billy softly, realization spreading across his face. Dom's blushing all the way out to his ears now, he can tell. He grabs and nearby cloth and starts wiping milk off the counter.

The problem is that there's just so much he doesn't know about Billy. He knows coffee shop things, small talk things. He knows about Billy's roommate and his dog's stupid antics, knows a little about his thesis (although he does kind of tune out the longer explanations), knows that when he drinks too much caffeine he gets queasy and then stands in front of the pastry case for twenty minutes trying to decide what will settle his stomach before inevitably getting a croissant.

He doesn't, however, know Billy's last name. He doesn't know if Billy's seeing anyone, doesn't know if he's even interested in men, let alone in Dom.

The latte hearts were probably stupid. He wasn't trying to send a message, it was just kind of an instinct, like secretly doodling someone's initials in your notebook at school but not wanting them to ever actually see it. Billy watches him enough to know about the espresso machines, though, and maybe that means something. 

The stretching silence- real silence this time- is thankfully interrupted by the arrival of a mother and three young children. By the time he sorts out all the hot chocolate and one quad espresso- he really does not envy this woman- Billy is back at his table, typing away. He must get a lot of work done because he doesn't look up at Dom again for the rest of the day. Dom ignores him right back, avoiding that side of the café until Elijah finally cracks and does a sweep for dishes himself.

Orlando comes in on time for once, thank god, and Dom makes a run for at as soon as the clock ticks over to four. He dumps his apron in the box marked 'dirty' in the back and slips behind the counter again on the way out to grab his tip money, but Elijah holds the cup out of the way. When Dom glares at him he just jerks his head toward the door, smiling.

Billy's packed up his stuff, even though it's hours earlier than he usually leaves, and is leaning against the wall by the entryway, backpack slung over one shoulder. He's watching Dom. When he sees Dom looking he blushes a little and fidgets with his backpack strap, but he doesn't move.

It's possible Dom would have forgotten about his tips if Elijah hadn't stuffed them into the pocket of his jeans.

"Hey," says Billy when he gets near the door, so Dom says it back, and then they're outside. It's stopped raining, but everything is gray and wet and quiet, like the whole world is holding its breath just as much as he is. Dom starts to walk his usual route home automatically, but that seems presumptuous, so instead he steers them toward the little municipal park behind the corner store.

"I can't believe you tried to seduce me with latte art," says Billy as they cross the street.

"Well, it worked," says Dom, and then kind of regrets it. Is that too forward? It did work, didn't it?

"Still, you could have just said something," says Billy.

"The same goes for you. I don't know why it was my responsibility." They're almost back to their usual banter, but then Billy takes his hand- just reaches out and takes it, like the most natural thing in the world- and it chases all the words right out of Dom's head. That, there, Billy's tiny hand that he's watched curve around so many cups, Billy's fingers around his, that's the first time they've ever touched.

Dom pulls him around the side of the building into the little park, because if he stops to look at Billy he's going to run into something and he'd just as soon they were out of traffic first. The park is mostly just grass, with a couple of trees lining a concrete walkway out to the opposite street. There are two benches, but they're covered in rainwater. It's possible Dom should have thought of that. He doesn't really care.

He finally stops and turns, standing a little too close, keeping Billy's hand in his. Billy's watching him again. Still. There's a smile in his eyes, though his face is serious. Traffic grumbles by in the background, and it's starting to drizzle again, but Dom ignores it, trying to balance just a little longer on the edge of this.

"Hey, what's your last name?" he asks. 

"Boyd," he says. "And you?"

"Dominic Bernard Patrick Luke Monaghan, at your service." He pronounces it grandly. Billy smiles at him, this incredible smile like somewhere inside he wants to laugh but it can't quite make it out through the happiness, through the breathlessness of this moment. Dom is powerless not to raise his free hand to Billy's cheek. Billy's eyelids flutter, and he sucks in a breath- and then he does laugh, after all.

"You smell like coffee," he says. Dom looks, and sure enough, there are little freckles of espresso dotting his knuckles.

"Sorry, I forgot to wash up on the way out," he says. He starts to take his hand away but Billy catches it and holds it there.

"Lucky for you, I'm something of a coffee addict," says Billy, and kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> For the curious, the macchiato debate is really a matter of [the latte macchiato vs the caffe macchiato](http://www.nescafe.co.uk/macchiato_en_co_uk.axcms). The author has absolutely no opinion on the matter.
> 
> Title is from the song "Falling In Love At A Coffee Shop".


End file.
